


Office Cellar

by Insane_Tomato



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, M/M, death of a minor character that doesnt even have a name lol, its ya boy - Freeform, manipulation kinda, physcopath dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insane_Tomato/pseuds/Insane_Tomato
Summary: Who exactly is George in love with...?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 240





	1. Introduction

From the very first glance, George never really understood Clay. There was something about those green eyes that were deeper and fuller than normal, that crooked grin that seemed to always beg to say more, the way he stuck his tongue out slightly when he laughed. There had always seemed to be a deeper enigma to his boyfriend that he never really cared, or wanted to find out.  
  
Every Sunday since they moved into their first home together, Clay had always excused himself down to the basement around noon until six o’ clock. It was where he, a real estate agent, had his office set up. It was for “peace and quiet purposes,” and so he could focus on important paperwork involving fraud, theft, or whatever real estate agents did. George never really remembered.  
  
Of course, he’d go down to that cellar at random periods throughout the week, but he was never really seen out of the house. Since George had known him, he’d always claimed to be a stay at home worker. He wasn’t a door to door salesman, rather he was someone high up and important enough to warrant trust to stay at his own home.  
  
George was told to never step in there, because Clay was “a little unorganized,” and most of his papers were “top secret through the company.” Fair enough, he could see why someone wouldn’t want to be snooped on while they worked, especially considering he couldn’t legally read most of the papers anyway.  
  
Sometimes he heard random noises down there. Clay had explained it was groans of frustration, or sometimes he had gotten so mad he had thrown a folder or a figurine at the wall. It was always reasonable excuses.  
  
However, when George walked in on his boyfriend in the middle of stabbing a random person he had never seen before, he knew it was going to be a little more difficult to explain that.


	2. Chapter One

As George turned off his television in his room for the night, he knew he had to at least text Clay if he was okay. It had been two days since he had come up from his office in the cellar, and he was starting to get a little worried, though he’d never admit it. He remembered his boyfriends exact words once his office was set up:  
  
“No matter what you hear, no matter how long I’ve been down there, please do not go down in the office. I don’t mean to offend you or anything, but I really need that space to myself.”  
  
It was a simple request, really. Though George didn’t have a profession that allowed him to stay at his own house, he understood that sometimes, work had to be done in a private location. He had no problem with letting Clay have one room to himself, especially if it was dedicated to his work.  
  
But this was a different scenario. Who needed two whole days to do their work? He hadn’t even come up to sleep. Did that mean he was sleeping in his office, or was he staying up the entire night? Both aren’t healthy. Was he even eating?  
This was a gray area to the verbal agreement they made. There was no reason to stay in an office for two whole days, no matter the circumstance. He was going to check on him, but he was going to make sure he wasn’t looking at or touching any papers. All he was going to do was stand in the doorway, ask him why he’s been working for so long lately, and get him out of there.  
  
...Why was he so nervous? It was just his office.  
  
He got up, and braced himself, even though the thought of something bad happening was ridiculous. “He’s just a real estate agent, dumbass,” George thought to himself. “What sort of exciting work does he go through daily? It’s just paper after paper, like he said. There’s no catch, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Just go in there! You don’t even have to look at any papers.”  
  
He found himself at the cellar door.  
  
“Just go in.” His body was telling him to turn back.  
  
“Just go in.” His hand unwillingly reached for the door.  
  
“Just go in.” He forgot to knock.  
  
“Just go in.” He opened the door.  
  
“Clay? Are you alright in here…?” He called. “I told you, idiot! Nothing to fear.”  
  
The only thing there was to fear was Clay himself, covered in blood as he was busy pulling a knife out of some stranger's chest.


	3. Chapter Two

He didn’t scream, but God he wanted to. He could feel as his face paled, and his hands started to shake intensely. The whole room had the smell of rot and stale blood, and he didn’t think that all of that blood belonged to this one victim. The room was empty, save for a single chair and two people in it, one alive and one now dead.  
  
Clay spun around, looking more embarrassed that he was caught than scared he was found out. “George,” he had begun, “You need to hear me out. Are you listening?”  
  
George could hear, but he didn’t comprehend. The only sense he could control was his eyes and his nose; all he could remember was watching the lights of the victims eyes die out and he walked in; all he could smell was vile blood and rot and death; all he could feel was a sense of dread and regret, the feeling of walking into a room you had not meant to walk into.  
  
“George,” he repeated. He stepped closer, and George found himself stepping back, raising his arms as if he were defending himself. “Hear me out, okay? Can you hear me?”  
  
“You… you…” was all he managed to stutter out. He was too focused on observing, nearly admiring the blood splashed almost methodically on Clay’s face, he was lost in those green eyes that he now understood the deepness of. He suddenly remembered a scene from years ago.  
  
~~~   
“Sapnap, are you sure about this? Meeting people on a dating app is sketchy. What if he’s, like, a psycho killer or something?”  
  
Sapnap laughed in response, waving a hand in the air as if to dismiss his friend's worries. “The chances of that are hella low. Besides, if anything happens, you have the loudest scream of anyone I know. You’ll catch anyone’s attention!”  
“Shut the fuck up.” And with that, George went out the door.  
  
The date had gone almost suspiciously well. Clay was a real estate agent who worked from home, had one cat, and hoped to own a house of his own one day.  
  
“What do you do for work,” Clay had asked. He suddenly seemed very invested in George, and who he really was at as a person.  
  
He was taken aback by the question. Truth was, he was an arrogant minimum wage worker who roomed with his friend because he couldn’t feed himself alone. Truth also was, he wouldn’t admit that for the life of him so he decided to distract Clay with a joke.  
  
“Femboy Hooters, obviously.”  
  
Clay exploded with laughter, causing a couple stares from other tables. But George didn’t care, because as far as he knew, time had stopped.  
  
It wasn’t that he was an ugly laugher, or that he was ugly in general; in fact, Clay was quite attractive. But it was that gleam in his eyes that shone differently, it was the odd quirk of the shape of his smile, it was something to do with odd little features all combined that put George off. It was a sense of biting into an apple, only to find it rotten; it was the feeling of standing up but feeling suddenly dizzy. Somehow, he knew there was something more to Clay, and he wasn’t sure if it was good or not.  
  
~~~   
Now he knew. He was staring at the gleam of a killer.


	4. Chapter Three

“George, please just listen to me.” George had snapped out of his daydream and faced his reality.  
  
His voice was just above a whisper. “What the hell have you done…” Louder. “What the hell have you done…!” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. He knew Clay had been a little secretive, but he didn’t fucking expect this!  
  
“Listen, if we both calm down, we can figure this out.”  
  
“We!? What do I have to do with this!? You just killed someone! In front of me!” He was backing up further, while Clay was trying to close the gap. It didn’t help that he was also holding a knife that was rusted with blood.  
  
“I need you to calm down-”  
  
“You just stabbed someone in our own home!!”  
  
“George.” His voice had gone from cautious to something much darker, much more assertive than anything he had ever heard. He paused out of shock, but kept his arms up in defense.  
  
“That’s more like it. Listen, we can work this out.”  
  
“Drop the… drop the knife.”  
  
Clay immediately let go of it. It clattered to the floor, leaving blood smeared on the kitchen tile. How had they gotten to the kitchen?  
  
“It’s all okay, it’ll all be okay. I need you to listen to me, I’m going to step closer.” George foolishly let him. He flinched as Clay gently set his hand down on his shoulder, soaking a little bit of blood into his shirt.  
  
“Put your hands down babe, I’m not gonna hurt you.”  
  
“Don’t call… don’t... “  
  
Clay shushed him, gently hovering a finger over George’s lips. He then gently and sweetly grabbed his wrist to pull it down; he didn’t fight him. “You’re in shock, don’t try to speak. Just listen.” His voice was like rotten honeycomb; it was sweet, it was delicious, it was sticky. But it was almost too sweet, enough to make you sick with one bite. Rot is still rot.  
  
George nodded. Clay continued.  
  
“You need to go back to bed, and forget this ever happened. I will explain in the morning, but for now, you need to leave me be. Do you understand?”  
  
The last part was spoken with no room for questioning. It wasn’t a question at all, it was a commandment, and he was taking orders. George nodded again; Clay looked pleased.  
  
He was warm again, with stress shrugged off his shoulders. His smile became his own, and his eyes were filled with light once again. “Good. I love you.” He gave George a kiss on the forehead, leaving half an imprint of dusty blood. He left to his office.  
  
All George could do was stand and take it in. What in God’s name just happened? Is my boyfriend actually a murderer? Is he a real estate agent? Who am I in love with?  
  
He turned around, and went back to bed.


End file.
